Now It's Your Problem

[a childhood memory a little embroidered, but by whom..
and in not so fond memory of all the horrid word problems in my grade school math books....]

I want a gown of maraschino velvet cried the doll
stamping her spooky foot at night (sideways)
where she had fallen

behind our dresser and we scared ourselves silly

thinking of her there having watched way too
many twilight zone episodes and reciting them
back outloud and then making up our own

versions until we were goggle eyed.
let's think our way out of this then. could she be bribed
with marshmallow creme?

with Mardi Gras beads our teachers brought back for us?
with Grandmother's peony fan?
we said a little too loudly.

and you can guess
since I'm still here writing this
it must have worked out o.k.

unless of course
the spooky doll took over
and is now writing this poem

still in the same bad and highly unpredictable mood!

mary angela douglas 18 february 2015